by Sam Short
“Please, Miss,” said Norman. “And I promise I’ll make sure he behaves when we take the parents on a tour of the rest of our classrooms when we’ve finished cooking. And I’ll make sure he doesn’t disrupt the fete, afterwards. He won’t be any bother, Miss. I swear.”
“Okay,” said Millie, frowning. “He can stay, Norman, but you must promise to let me know if he ever hurts you or your mother, okay?”
“I will, Miss, I promise,” confirmed Norman, walking after his stepfather. “Trevor!” he called. “Miss Thorn said you can stay and watch me cook… if you want to.”
Trevor stopped walking, and turned on the spot, his sneer illuminated by the cone of muddy yellow cast by one of the old ceiling lights. “Of course I want to stay and watch you cook, Norman!” he said, changing direction and marching along the corridor. “Nothing would make me happier.” Brushing past Millie as he followed Norman into the classroom, he grinned at his stepson’s teacher. “This should be fun,” he said.
“The children certainly hope so,” replied Millie, quietly. “So please bear that in mind.”
Making his way towards the back of the classroom, Trevor paused as he passed one of the benches. He gave a low laugh as he reached for one of the old cookery books in front of the children. “These books bring back some memories,” he said. He flicked the book open and gave a loud laugh as he studied the front page. “I don’t believe it!” he snorted. “I wrote this, all those years ago… ‘if somebody stuck a pin in Lardy Liz, there’d be custard all over the walls!’ I even drew a little picture of Lardy Liz exploding after I stuck a pin in her! I bet if I went through the rest of the books I’d find loads more of my little messages!”
“Trevor!” said Francine. “That’s really not appropriate! Have some decency, would you?”
“Yes,” said another parent, a short and stocky man. “There really is no need to laugh about how cruel you used to be. It wasn’t funny then, and it definitely isn’t funny now… especially considering who’s present here today.”
“Ah, yes,” said Trevor, slamming the book closed and tossing it onto the desk. “We can’t offend the children, can we? Bless their delicate little hearts.”
Pushing away the angry urge to throw Trevor out of the classroom, Millie considered her options. She knew that allowing Trevor to remain had been the wrong decision. A bully should never be allowed to get his or her way using threats, but the thought of Norman going home to arguments between his mother and stepfather filled Millie with a cold sadness. She closed her eyes. Sometimes you were forced to act opposite to the way your morals insisted you act. She cleared her throat. “If you could join the parents at the back of the classroom, please, Mr Giles, then the children can begin their demonstration.”
Trevor rubbed his hands together in what was quite obviously faux glee. “This is going to be fun,” he said, hoisting himself into a seating position on one of the worktops beneath the windows.
“I’m sure it will be fun, Trevor,” said Jeremy’s father.
“Okay,” said Millie, addressing the children. “As you can see, there are a few bowls of ingredients on the countertop near the stoves. Working in pairs, and using the ingredients provided, I’d like you to prepare what you find on page forty-six of the recipe books in front of you. It’s a recipe I doubt any of you have seen before.”
“Welsh cakes?” said one of the children, amid the sound of pages being turned. “What are they, Miss?”
Millie smiled. “They’re delicious, is what they are,” she said. “As the name suggests, it’s a Welsh recipe. They’re simple to make, as well as being absolutely divine to eat, especially with a little butter spread on top of them.”
“But we don’t have time to make a cake, Miss!” said Jeremy. “Cakes take ages to make! We spent all day yesterday making them for the stall at the fete. They have to go into the oven for a long time!”
“Not these cakes,” said Millie. “These cakes will only take a few minutes to cook after you’ve prepared the mixture, and you don’t even need to open the oven — it’s all done in a frying pan.” She pointed to the clock on the wall. “Okay, you’ve got fifteen minutes — show your parents what you can do!”
Chatting excitedly to one another, and remembering to wash their hands before creating tiny mushroom clouds of flour as they tossed ingredients into large mixing bowls, the children got on with the task at hand, smiling at their parents as they worked.
Joining the adults at the back of the room, Millie became awkwardly aware of the obvious space between the main group of adults, and Trevor Giles, who remained seated on a worktop, picking at his fingernails. Presumably unaware anybody was watching him, the cocksure expression that had been plastered all over his face had melted away, replaced with what Millie read to be an expression of sadness. No, it was more than that, she decided — the way Trevor’s eyelids drooped, and his Adam’s apple repeatedly bobbed in his throat, his mouth slightly open, spoke of far more than mere sadness. It spoke of misery. Deep misery.
Remembering that Norman had suggested that something might have happened in Trevor’s past that had shaped him into who he was today, Millie was happy to feel pity tugging at her heart. She’d rather experience pity for a fellow human being, than anger. Anger was a waste of time and energy, while pity ensured that good deeds were done and problems were solved.
Trevor raised his head as another group of parents and children passed the open door of the classroom, laughing and chatting with one another as they toured the school. Catching Millie watching him, the mask of misery left his face, instantly swapped for one of disdain. “What are you looking at?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” said Millie, offering the man a smile. “I was thinking, that’s all.”
Making a huffing sound, Trevor turned his attention to the children as gas hobs were lit, and the rich scent of frying butter filled the room, the other parents casting sidelong looks in his direction as the children worked.
Glancing out of the window at the colourful tents and the bouncy castle arranged on one of the large, well-kept lawns below, Millie sighed as she watched a large man helping one of the teachers set up a coconut shy alongside the paddling pool, in which the hook-a-duck game was to be played. The man, his broad smile visible even from Millie’s second-floor vantage point, wore his police uniform — his shiny boots reflecting sun rays, and his hat balanced on one of the wooden stakes reserved for a coconut.
Sighing again, Millie looked away, a tear poised to fall — wiped away quickly by her finger. She took one last look outside as the acrid stench of burning smothered the sweet aroma of browning flour and eggs.
There he was. Still smiling, the magical town’s only policeman. Sergeant David Spencer. The kindly man who was unaware he had a daughter named Millie.
Chapter 3
Pushing open one of the windows, the ancient hinges squealing in protest, Millie used her hands to persuade as much of the black smoke as she could to leave through the small gap.
She joined the parents in a round of applause as the children stood proudly alongside the line of stoves, displaying their Welsh cakes on white plates which they held before them.
“Very well done,” said Millie, tasting burning in the air. “You all managed to follow a recipe you’d never seen before, to the letter. You should be proud of yourselves, and I’m sure your parents will enjoy helping you eat your cakes when you get home tonight!”
“Not me!” said Trevor, approaching Norman. “Look at the cakes Norman and Emma have made! Everybody else’s are golden brown, you pair have made a plate of charcoal discs!”
“You can still eat them, Trevor,” said Norman, his cheeks red. “You can scrape the burnt bits off — like you do with your toast!”
“I don’t think so, Norman,” said Trevor. “I’m sure your mother will eat one or two, though. She’ll always pretend you’ve done well when you haven’t!”
“Oh, that’s right, Trevor,” said Francine. “That’s
how you install confidence into a child.” She smiled at Norman and Emma. “Your cakes look lovely, don’t listen to him.”
Emma’s mother stepped forward, her hands entwined at waist height and her eyes darting nervously around the room. “I can’t wait to try your cakes,” she said, giving the two children a kind smile. “I’m sure they’ll be delicious.”
Trevor gave a loud laugh, tilting his head backwards in cruel emphasis. He looked Emma’s mother up and down, his teeth bared in a wicked grin. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll eat them,” he said. “Of that, I have no doubt! Anyway, it was Emma that burnt them, not Norman — I was watching!”
“Don’t listen to him, Beth,” said Francine, placing a hand on the blushing woman’s shoulder, who seemed to be wilting under Trevor’s harsh words. “Once a bully, always a bully.”
“I’m just having a laugh,” said Trevor. “Some of you need to get a sense of humour.”
“And one of you needs to get some tact,” said Millie, arching an eyebrow at Trevor. She gave each of the children a reassuring smile. “You’ve all done wonderfully well! I’m very proud of you. Now, being sure to split them equally between the pairs you cooked them in, place your cakes into one of the paper bags at the back of the classroom and get ready to take your parents on a quick tour of the rest of the school.
“I’ll probably see a lot of you at the fete later on, but I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you all for being such wonderful pupils. As you all know, you volunteered to attend my class as guinea pigs, to find out whether cookery lessons could be a valid addition to the curriculum.” She smiled. “I think it’s safe to say that the answer will be yes. You’ve all impressed Mister Pinkerton and the headmaster, so I would imagine that cookery lessons will become available for every pupil in the school next term, and not just you brave volunteers. Thank you all, and I hope you enjoy your time off before the next school term begins.”
Her cheeks warming as the pupils and adults gave her a polite round of applause, Millie gave a small sigh of relief. She’d survived her first term as a teacher, and she’d enjoyed it, much to her surprise. She’d also developed a deep fondness for her pupils, and watched with a heavy heart as Norman smiled up at Trevor, clutching his paper bag of burned cakes, his stepfather barely acknowledging him as he made his way towards the door.
Millie shook her head. There was nothing she could do for Norman, and probably nothing she should do for the boy. If Trevor was hurting him physically, that would be a different story, but she couldn’t intervene in the boy’s life on the basis that his stepfather was a rude man. It wasn’t her job. She had to remember that.
She shook such depressing thoughts from her mind and smiled as the children joined their parents, excited at the prospect of showing the adults around the school.
“Come on, Mum!” said William, taking Francine by the hand. “I’ll take you to see the gym first, you always said it was your favourite place when you were in school! I bet it’s changed loads since you last saw it!”
“I’ll take you to the spell room, Dad,” said Jeremy, smiling at his father. “It’s the best room in the school!” He stuck his tongue out at Harry. “And it’s only for witches!”
“Well, I’m taking my mum and dad to see the changing rooms,” said Harry. “And they’re only for werewolves!”
“Good!” countered Jeremy. “I wouldn’t want to go in them anyway. Who would want to go into rooms in which smelly kids turn into even smellier wolves! I bet those rooms stink of disgusting fur and dog breath.”
“You wouldn’t dare come in when we’re learning how to change safely into wolves,” laughed Harry. “You’d be too scared! Witches are cowards who hide behind magic! That’s what my mum says.” He looked up at his mother. “Isn’t that right, Mum?”
“Not exactly, Harry,” said his mother, her cheeks flushed. “That’s not what I said.” She glanced at Jeremy’s father, guilt evident in her eyes. “I am sorry,” she said. “He does tend to get things wrong sometimes.”
Jeremy’s father laughed. “Don’t be silly! There’s no need to apologise. Friendly rivalry between paranormals is normal, especially at their age. It’s all just healthy banter.”
“Where do you want to go, Trevor?” asked Norman. “Is there somewhere you’d like me to show you? Somewhere that was special to you when you were a pupil?”
Francine gave a low laugh. “You were fond of the headmaster’s office, as I remember things, Trevor,” she said.
“I don’t think I can take you there,” said Norman. “The headmaster and Mister Pinkerton are away on business, and their offices are probably locked.”
“She’s trying to make a joke, Norman,” said Trevor. “Ignore her, she always was an attention seeker. Instead of showing me around the school, how about you take me outside to the fete and show me the tent that says ‘refreshments’ above the door? I bet you’d love a nice cold cola?”
The boy’s face dropped. “Okay, Trevor,” he said.
“I’ll take you to the chemistry lab, Mum,” said Emma, quietly, taking Beth by the hand. “You’ll enjoy looking around in there, and Mister Huggins is such a lovely teacher. He’s so funny.”
“Yes,” said Beth. “Let’s go, Emma.” She gave Trevor a sideways glance. “I’d like to put some space between myself and a certain person.”
Trevor looked Beth up and down and gave a cruel smile. “There’s plenty of space between us. Plenty.”
“Don’t talk to my mother like that!” snapped Emma.
“It’s okay, darling,” said Beth. “It doesn’t bother me. Come on, show me the chemistry lab, I used to enjoy chemistry when I was in school. Let’s get out of here.”
One of the other mothers narrowed her eyes and glared at Trevor. “I think a lot of us feel the same. I’d like to leave, too.”
“Listen to yourselves,” said Trevor. “So, I went to school with some of you, and had a laugh with you. So what? It was a long time ago. Was I really so popular that I had that much of an effect on you all? I must say, I feel quite proud that you all remember me so well.”
“Bullies tend to leave an imprint on the minds of their victims,” said Francine. “That’s nothing to be proud of.” She put a hand on her son’s back and pushed him gently towards the door. “Go on, William. It’s time to leave.”
“It’s time for everyone to leave,” said Millie, interrupting Trevor as he opened his mouth to speak. “The other teachers will remain in their classrooms for another hour and will be happy to show any parents around.”
As the parents and children filed through the doorway, shouting from the corridor startled Millie. “Burning!” came a worried male voice. “Burning! I must stop it!”
The appearance of a bald elderly man in the doorway took Millie by surprise, and impervious to the fact that he was blocking the doorway and preventing people from leaving the room, the man shouted again. “Burning! Stop it from burning!”
Unfortunately for the man, the person whose path he’d stepped directly into was Trevor Giles’s, and Trevor seemed to have as much respect for the elderly as he did for children. “Get out of my way, old man,” he snapped. “A couple of stupid kids burned some stupid cakes. That’s what you can smell.”
The man stood still for a moment, and then lifted his face, studying Trevor with old eyes. His expression hardened, and his eyes widened. “You!” he said, his voice a booming ill fit for such a frail body. He lifted a hand and placed a thin finger on Trevor’s chest. “You! You evil child!” he shouted. “You’re like a snake without cunning, a bird without boots! You are the devil himself! You evil, evil child!”
Pushing the elderly man’s hand away, Trevor laughed. “What are you talking about… a bird without boots? What does that even mean? Get out of my way, you daft old sod! Some of us have got better things to do than listen to the demented ramblings of an old codger! There’s a bar stocked with real ale waiting for me.”
“Evil!” shouted the old man. “Like a
shirt without cufflinks!”
“If you don’t move out of my way,” threatened Trevor, narrowing the gap between himself and the man. “I’ll move you.”
“Dad!” came a woman’s anxious voice from the corridor. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over the school for you!”
The lady who appeared in the doorway, wearing a smart white summer dress and a straw hat, took the old man by the elbow and smiled an apology as she moved him aside. “I’m sorry if my father offended anybody,” she said. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying most of the time.”
Pushing through the doorway, Trevor sneered at the woman. “Keep your father under control, love,” he said. “Otherwise he just might say the wrong thing to the wrong person… if you get my drift.”
“Erm, yes, I think I understand,” stammered the woman, pulling her father towards her, and away from Trevor. “I’m sorry if he was rude to you.”
The old man lifted a shaky arm and pointed at Trevor. “As evil as a fox without gloves! That’s what he is!”
“Dad!” said his daughter, her eyes avoiding Trevor’s. “Please stop saying things like that, or I’ll have to take you home. This is a school, remember? There are children here — you don’t want to scare a child, do you? You like the children, don’t you?”
The old man let out a long breath, his face and bald head reddening as he leaned against his daughter. “I need to sit down, Julia,” he said.
“He can sit down in here,” offered Millie, approaching the father and daughter, smiling her thanks at the concerned parents and children who let her pass. “I’ll make him a cup of tea. He looks like he could do with one.”
Chapter 4
Reassuring the parents that their help wasn’t required, Millie closed the door when the last of the children and adults had left her classroom, and hurried to the corner counter, flicking on the electric kettle which stood next to the traditional teapot decorated with hand-painted roses. “Is he okay?” she asked, dropping a teabag into a mug.
